Roger
by Oubliette14
Summary: The story goes something like this: Her dog gets hit by a car. She can't afford the surgery. But when Killian Jones, a man she's known for all of two hours, up and offers to foot the bill, she sits there wondering just when exactly her life turned into a movie.


A/N: Well, my muses have gone and done it again. Apparently they feel the need to churn out a one shot every so often. This one was inspired by some real life events. Last week a friend of mine had to put her puppy down when he got hit by a car. She unfortunately couldn't afford the surgery and wasn't really left with any other options. Life doesn't always have a happy ending, but words and the ability to wield them, mean that on paper (or screen) at least, I can change that.

* * *

It's all a bit of a blur.

One minute Emma's sitting there in the grass, laughing with Henry. It's not much of a yard, this small patch of lawn in front of the ground floor of the town house rental they call home, but it's something. It's a roof over their heads, with an oven that only scorches a meal once every week or so, and even that's not so bad because Henry actually has his own room here, and at eight years old, he's getting too big to carry around on her shoulders, but that doesn't stop her from doing it so he can fan at the smoke detector on the kitchen ceiling with an old dishtowel they have specifically reserved for such occasions.

One minute she's sitting in the grass with Henry, enjoying the last of a busy Tuesday evening. The early October sun set nearly half an hour ago and she wraps her sweater tighter against the chill of the autumn breeze. The sky is that stunning shade of twilit blue she can never quite remember the name for, and she really should urge Henry to stand, to gather his scarf from where it's fallen among the leaves that also cling to his hair, but he's just so happy.

What eight year old boy wouldn't be when he's rolling around on the ground with a five month old puppy? Roger is the rascal's name, and over the last few months, the energetic black lab has quickly become an integral part of their family.

Henry's never been that great at making friends (she thinks he most likely gets that from her), and the fact that their living arrangements haven't exactly been stable for much of his young life certainly hasn't helped. She's got a decent job now though (if one can call being a bail bonds person a decent job), and it pays the bills, even if the hours aren't exactly ideal.

Emma's found luck in that regard though. Living in the apartment above them, is the owner of the town house. Belle is many things; she's quiet and bookish, a fitting description for a librarian, but she's also just about the kindest soul Emma has ever met, and after moving into the ground floor apartment with Henry just over a year ago, Belle quickly became more than just her landlord, transitioning easily from neighbour to friend to more than occasional babysitter for Henry.

Emma tries to pay her for it when she can, but Belle refuses her money more often than not, telling her that she's home anyway in the evenings and nights, that Henry is a good kid, and that the only payment she requires can come in the form of Henry helping out with Saturday morning story time at the library.

Henry's gotten better at making friends in the last year. Story time at the library has helped with that. Being in one place for a decent length of time has too. And Roger, well, he certainly doesn't hurt.

She's still not sure exactly how Henry convinced her to adopt a puppy. Actually that's a lie. She knows exactly how he did it. He met her at the bus stop on the last day of school back in June, clutching a wrinkled flyer in his tiny hands, tears in his eyes as he held it out to her and said "He needs a home. We have a home now. Can we share it with him?" And being an orphan herself, how could she say no?

So two days later, after checking with Belle and shopping for the necessities, they'd brought Roger home. The first couple weeks of house breaking had been an adventure, but they'd quickly settled into a routine, and now a night where Roger isn't asleep on the mat beside Henry's bed, or a day where he doesn't follow her around the house like a shadow is almost incomprehensible to her.

So one minute she's sitting there with her son and their dog, laughing when Henry tells her that he wants to be a pirate for Halloween (Captain Hook specifically) and that Roger will be his ship, his Jolly Roger, and then the next thing she knows, the leash is slipping from her relaxed grip as Roger catches sight of a squirrel across the street and gives chase.

And then it all seems to happen in slow motion. She calls Roger back, but he doesn't hear her as he streaks across the road, an inky blur at twilight. The driver of the car doesn't see him until it's too late, wheels locking up in a ear splitting screech, followed by a sickening thud. Emma's dumbstruck for a moment, trying to process it all, and she thinks that maybe the driver will stop, get out and offer to help, at least apologize, but then the car is turning and there's another god-awful squeal as they light up the tires and take off into the night.

Somehow she's on her feet though she has no memory of actually standing, the acrid smell of burnt rubber hanging heavy in the air. _Oh god._ She sucks in a breath and tries to steady herself before speaking. "Henry, I need you to go inside and stay with Belle."

"But mom-" he protests, and she has to place a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from running out into the street.

"Henry, go, please." She crouches and looks into his eyes. "I'll be inside in a minute."

A door creaks open and Belle rushes down the stairs from the apartment above. She must have heard the commotion. "Henry, come with me," she requests softly. "Your mom needs to check on Roger. We'll make some hot cocoa, okay?"

"With cinnamon?" Henry asks, and his voice is so small when he speaks that Emma's heart nearly breaks right then and there.

Belle nods and Henry steps forward to take her hand.

When they're inside, Emma takes another deep breath, grabs a blanket from the back seat of her car, and prepares herself for the worst.

The streetlight blinks on, too little, too late, and she glares at it, wishing she had the long gone driver to blame instead. Roger whimpers quietly and tries to sit up as she steps closer and she releases a breath she didn't know she was holding.

He's still alive, but he blinks up at her slowly, twisted horribly and shaking, obviously in pain, and all she can think as she cautiously runs her hands over him, is that at least there doesn't seem to be any blood. That's probably a good thing, but the way that he's wheezing and trembling harder now, not even trying to stand, sure as hell isn't, and she doesn't want to move him, doesn't want to risk injuring him further, but she can't leave him here in the middle of the street and they don't make ambulances for dogs, so she spreads the blanket out and carefully maneuvers him onto it before lifting him and carrying him to the car. She settles him in the passenger seat and tucks the blanket around him, wanting to keep him warm as shock sets in and he shakes even harder.

Stubbornly blinking back tears, she presses a kiss to his nose and wipes her hands over her eyes. "I'll be right back, bud, try not to move, okay?"

He licks at her fingers and whines softly, almost as if he understands her. Shutting the car door as quietly as possible, she leans her head against the cool yellow metal for a second as she closes her eyes and prepares to head back inside. You can do this, Emma, she tells herself, just walk inside, ask Belle to stay with your son, and tell Henry that Roger is okay for now, but that you need to take him to the doctor.

And she does just that, managing to appear far calmer than she feels, and it must be some sort of miracle that she doesn't start crying when Henry disappears for a second and comes running back from his room with Roger's favourite toy; a bright blue rope anchor. "Make sure he has this," Henry insists, pressing the toy into her trembling hands. "He doesn't like to sleep without it."

She nods quietly, thanks Belle once more, and then cards her fingers through Henry's hair before grabbing her purse and heading to the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can, kid. Be good for Belle, okay?"

He nods, leaning into Belle's side, and Emma manages to make it out the door and into the car before her breath hitches on a sob and the tears begin to fall. She gives herself ten seconds and then wipes them away. She can cry later, right now she needs to get Roger to the vet. Her regular veterinarian is already closed for the night, but they're associated with an after-hours emergency clinic, so she heads toward that instead, already knowing that this isn't going to be cheap.

The parking lot is quiet when she gets there, so she pulls into the closest spot that isn't handicap designated, killing the engine and quickly moving around the car to lift Roger from the other seat. From there it's a quick eight steps to a door that thankfully pushes inward, and once she's inside, a tall dark-haired man rushes forward to gently lift Roger from her arms.

"I'm Killian," he says, kind eyes flashing with concern as he nods over his shoulder and beckons for her to follow him down the narrow hall and into the first exam room. "What happened? Uh..?" he hesitates, clearly wondering how to address her.

"It's Emma... Swan. That's- he's Roger," she says, moving around to the far side of the examination table as Killian lowers Roger to its surface and reaches for a phone on the wall. "He got hit by a car," she tells him as she twists her fingers gently in the fur at Roger's neck. "Can you help him?"

Killian nods reassuringly at her as he punches a four digit code into the keypad (an extension she assumes) and after one ring, he begins talking. "Whale, I've got black lab pup here, hit by car," he pauses, "aye, we'll start that." He hangs up and turns back to her. "The vet will be up in just a moment to look at him and do a more thorough examination, but I'm going to start by checking him over and setting an IV, all right, love?"

"Okay, um do I need to tell you anything else? I'm supposed to give you all our information, right? He's five months old, well five and a half now and-" Killian silences her by placing a gentle hand over hers. "We'll worry about all that after, all right?"

She nods dumbly and then he's moving again, checking and marking down vitals. After that he digs through the drawers in the cabinet behind him, pulling out clippers, tape, gauze, an IV catheter, and what she assumes to be some sort of antiseptic liquid. Another woman comes in then; a lanky brunette in ruby red scrubs, and Emma reluctantly steps back to get out of their way.

And it's only then, in the harsh fluorescent lighting, that she notices her hands have come away bloodied. There's a stain on her sweater too, and she stares at it for several long seconds before finally looking up and watching as the man in blue and the woman in red work silently together to place the IV in Roger's front right leg.

They're just finishing up when another man enters and introduces himself as Dr. Whale. He offers his hand, but hers are still bloodied, twisted in the ruined fabric of her sweater, so she doesn't take it. He tells her that they'll do an exam, asks for her consent to take x-rays and possibly an ultrasound, and then he requests that Killian take her back out to the front to input the necessary information into the computer system.

Before she follows Killian back out to the waiting room, the girl in red (Ruby is her name), places a reassuring hand just above her wrist and squeezes lightly, promising that they'll take really good care of Roger and that she'll be updated every step of the way.

Emma nods mechanically and Killian gently ushers her from the exam room and back down the hall into the waiting room. The lighting is softer up here, warmer and more welcoming, but the air still smells of antiseptic and bleach, powdered latex gloves and some lingering hint of despair as she chews on her lip and stares at her hands.

"Emma? Ms. Swan?" Killian speaks quietly, drawing her attention up to his face. It's a nice face, she thinks, kind blue eyes with dimples that appear when he smiles, not at all hidden behind a layer of scruff that almost looks reddish in the yellow light of the lamp to her left. He has an accent too. Funny, she hadn't noticed that before. "Please have a seat," he insists. "I'm going to go get you a clean shirt and after you wash your hands, we'll make note of your information, aye?"

Nodding her head, she makes a point of standing straighter and appearing a little more with it. "Yes, thank you," she manages to say before he disappears down the hall.

She doesn't sit, not yet, she doesn't want to get blood on what looks like a rather expensive leather sofa, so instead she hikes her purse a little higher on her shoulder with an awkward shift of her arm, and then she paces, walking the tiled floor – grey, taupe, grey – the colours repeating until she hears Killian return.

He gestures toward the bathroom and enters first, setting the shirt and an empty plastic bag on the counter before flipping on the light and backing out to vacate the space for her. With a "thanks" and an attempt at a smile, she enters the room and pushes the door shut with her booted foot.

Washing her hands doesn't take long, and as she tugs the bloodied sweater over her head, she wonders if the stain had been there when she hugged Henry earlier. She doesn't think so. She hopes not. Sighing, she shoves the balled up ivory knit into the plastic bag with little care; it's not as if she's ever getting that stain out.

The shirt Killian brought her is obviously one of his own; a dark grey henley similar to the one he's currently wearing beneath his scrub shirt, and as she pulls it on over her thin tank top, she should probably be thinking less about how good a perfect stranger's shirt smells, and more about how bizarre and awful this entire situation is. That's hard though when she hasn't worn a man's shirt for the better part of nine years, and all she can think at the moment is that even though the shirt is too big on her and she has to roll up the sleeves, it's soft and warm and helps detract from the unwelcoming scent of heavy sterilization that clings to places like this.

With a shake of her head and a splash of cold water on her face, she pats her skin dry with rough paper towel, gathers her belongings, and pulls open the door. Killian's seated at the front desk, drumming a stylus absentmindedly against the underside of his chin while he stares at a tablet. She moves toward the desk, but he intercepts her quickly and directs her toward the leather couch instead. It turns out to be a lot more comfortable than it looks, and she huddles into the corner of it as he takes a seat two cushions over.

The process of giving him all the necessary information is far less tedious than she expects it to be and not once does he ask her to repeat an answer or spell out a name. When they're done, he rises from the couch with the tablet tucked under his arm. "I'm about to put a pot of coffee on. I can bring you a cup if you'd like?" he offers as he moves toward the front deck.

She could use it, so she nods and she thinks that this time, when she smiles, it might just be a little bit more true. "Black is fine, thank you."

He nods, and then he's passing her the remote for the large tv that's mounted on the wall. "Change the channel if you wish, love. I've a few patients to check on, but I'll be back shortly with your coffee and hopefully an update on Roger."

She thanks him again and spends the next fifteen minutes channel surfing, not really focusing until he returns and places a steaming mug on the small table beside the couch. There's not much news yet, he tells her; Roger is stable, the blood was from a superficial abrasion, and they're about to do x-rays. They should know more soon.

He seems to want to stay and keep her company, but it's also fairly obvious that he still has a job to do, and thankfully the shrill ring of the telephone saves her from an awkward attempt at telling him that he doesn't need to hang around and coddle her. _She's used to being alone._

The next half hour is spent drinking her coffee and fretting over how much this is going to cost while she exchanges the occasional text with Belle. Belle tells her that Henry fell asleep on the couch half an hour into a re-watch of Peter Pan, and Emma counts herself incredibly lucky that she was blessed with such a well-behaved kid.

There's not much on TV, nothing she can seem to focus on anyway, so she half listens to Killian speak on the phone instead. His voice is kind as he reassures a worried owner that their dog will be just fine, that while eating an entire brick of cheese isn't ideal, if he hasn't thrown it back up by now, some gas and diarrhea ought to be the worst that they'll have to contend with. When he suggests confining the dog to a room for the night, preferably one with a floor that can be easily cleaned, a snort of laughter blows past her lips and she can't help but smile back when he grins at her with a wink.

He leaves for a while again after that, but somehow the warmth of his presence lingers and it makes her feel a little less like she's sitting in a waiting room expecting terrible news. When he finally reappears, the smile he gives her is tense, not quite as bright as it was earlier, and dread settles, a heavy lump in the pit of her stomach. _Terrible news it is._

She stands to follow him down the hall and into a small room where Dr. Whale waits. Killian guides her in, motions to yet another couch, and then disappears back out into the hall, closing the door behind him. She remains standing, arms folded over her chest as Whale moves toward the x-rays mounted under the lip of the light box.

Roger has bruised lungs and several broken ribs, his pelvis is fractured in two places, one of them resulting in nerve compression, and there's some internal bleeding associated with trauma to the liver. The ribs will heal on their own, but the bleeding needs to be stopped, the nerve compression needs to be dealt with, and stabilizing the pelvis so it can heal properly is going to require a plate and several screws. In short; Roger needs surgery, and if they're going ahead with it, they should do so within the next few hours to achieve the best results possible and ensure that he makes a full recovery. If she decides not to go ahead with the surgery, euthanasia is her only other option, they can keep him stable for the time being, but not indefinitely. It's blunt, matter of fact when he says it, but she appreciates that he doesn't beat around the bush or make false promises.

Still the shock must register on Emma's face because Whale nods in understanding before letting her know that Killian will be back in shortly with a written estimate of costs and consent forms to sign should she decide to go ahead with the surgery.

He leaves the room quietly then and Emma finally takes a seat on the couch, her head in her hands as she stares at the floor, trying to figure out what to do. She doesn't need to see a written estimate to know that she won't be able to afford this surgery.

When Killian enters again with a clipboard in hand and takes a seat next to her on the couch, she doesn't even try to smile. He walks her through the her bill thus far before moving onto the estimate, and then to the details, risks, and possible complications of the surgery, and the entire time she stares dejectedly at the papers in front of her, the words blurring before her eyes as she fights the tears that threaten to fall. He follows it up by outlining the expected length of stay at the clinic and the anticipated recovery time, and she appreciates how thorough he is, but it's all spectacularly overwhelming and heartbreaking when try as she might, she really can't fathom how she could possibly pay for it all.

He leaves her with the papers, a gentle suggestion to take her time considering it, and a promise to return and check on her soon. There's an extension for the front desk too, and he nods toward the phone on the wall, telling her to call if she has any other questions.

When he goes, closing the door quietly behind him, she finally allows the tears to fall.

She already owes nearly $1000 to cover the examination fee, x-rays, an ultrasound, plus a number of other procedures she doesn't even pretend to understand. That alone is enough to deplete what little she has tucked away in savings. There's no way she can afford the additional $5500-6000 for the surgery. Even if she sold her bug (which she can't really do because she needs it for work), it wouldn't fetch nearly enough; it's old with too many miles, and yeah, sure, it's a classic, but it's rusting in spots, the clutch sticks like gum to a shoe, and she's pretty sure the back bumper is held on by duct tape and sheer will alone.

And maybe she could take out a loan, but who could she possibly ask to co-sign with her that could actually afford it? Certainly not Belle. She doesn't have parents or a boyfriend, and Henry's father has never been in the picture. Emma's spent most of her adult life (and a vast majority of the years before it) fending for herself. As a foster kid, as an orphan, being alone and not relying on anyone else had just been a way of life. She's never been happy about it, but she learned a long time ago to accept it. She has Henry and for the past eight years she hasn't needed anyone else. But now, sitting here today, faced with an impossible decision, she's feels like that little girl she used to be, the one who wanted nothing but a family that loved her.

Sighing, she runs through a few other pointless options before finally admitting to herself that her first instinct was right; this surgery can't happen, she can't afford it, not without going into serious debt or doing something illegal, not if she wants to stay here and try to give Henry the life he deserves.

Closing her eyes, she presses the heels of her hands to them, tugging at her hair as a silent sob shakes its way through her chest. She's going to have to put Roger down. She's going to have to say goodbye to the loveable beast, and god, he's only a puppy. He's too young. It's too soon. They haven't had enough time with him. He was supposed to grow old with them, be there as Henry matures, starts high school, and gets taller than her. He was supposed to live long enough for her to see his black fur flecked with grey, his eyes still bright as he hobbles toward her when she asks him if he wants to go for a walk. She wasn't supposed to have her heart broken this soon, this suddenly. Another sob hiccups its way past her lips, louder this time and she wipes at her nose, shaking as it hits her: she's going to have to break Henry's heart.

She tries not to cry, she really does, but that only seems to make the tears fall faster as she struggles to slow her breathing and wraps her arms around herself in a poor attempt at comfort. Her fingers are numb with grief and she allows the clipboard to fall carelessly to the floor as it slips from her knees.

Some part of her brain acknowledges the sound of the door opening and closing softly, but it's not until the blurry blue of Killian's scrub pants enter her vision and the couch dips with his added weight, that she fully realizes she's no longer alone.

She thinks he might hug her, this total stranger, and she doesn't want that, she can't handle that; if he does, she's not sure she'll ever stop crying.

He doesn't embrace her though, just reaches out and curls his pinky around hers where her hand remains clutched tightly over her elbow. "What can I do, Emma?"

She doesn't look up just yet, doesn't speak, but her grip relaxes and the rest of his fingers curl beneath her own. He doesn't speak again, just remains there, a silent pillar of support, and when her breathing finally evens out, slowing and returning to a more normal rhythm, she wipes her nose on her sleeve (his sleeve if she's getting technical) and sniffles. He offers up a Kleenex box with his free hand and she takes it gratefully.

"Sorry," she says after she releases his hand and blows her nose.

"You've nothing to apologize for, love."

"I'm pretty sure getting snot all over the shirt you lent me requires an apology."

He chuckles and smiles kindly at her. "I work as a vet tech for a living; I wish I could say that snot, as you so elegantly put it, was the worst substance to grace the sleeves of one of my shirts."

She laughs at that, or tries to anyway, but it ends up coming out as some sort of awful hiccup of a sob and she instantly feels tears prickle at her eyes again. Shaking her head, she takes a deep breath and balls the Kleenex tight in her grasp. May as well get this over with. She doesn't want Roger to suffer any longer than necessary.

"I wish I could, but there's just no way I can afford this surgery," she tells him reluctantly. "It's just me and my kid and this is going to break his heart because that dog is basically his best friend, and god, he's probably going to hate me for it, but we're going to have to put Roger down." Killian is frowning slightly, his brow furrowed, and she sighs. "You must think I'm a terrible person. I mean, maybe I am, but I really don't have any other choice."

He's quiet for a moment, bending to gather the fallen clipboard from the ground before handing it back to her with a smile. "I don't think you're a terrible person, Emma," he says, "and I think perhaps you do have another choice."

She accepts the clipboard and raises her eyebrows skeptically. "If you can think of something that I haven't already considered and immediately ruled out, by all means, I'm open to suggestions."

"I can pay for it. I'll cover the cost of the surgery."

She's not sure if she heard him right, but she's pretty damn sure her jaw hits the floor. "You'll what?"

He starts to repeat himself, "I'll pay for Roger's surg-" but she cuts him off. "Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought. But why? You don't even know me. Why would you put yourself in a position where a total stranger owes you that much money?"

"I uh, wasn't actually suggesting that you pay me back. You don't have to – that is, you wouldn't owe me anything," he corrects, his ears going red as he stumbles over his words.

"Seriously?" Maybe it's just her, but doesn't this sort of shit only happen in the movies?

He nods seriously. "Aye."

Call her a skeptic, call her jaded, but she doesn't believe that anything comes for free. In her experience, people don't just offer up help (money especially) without some sort of expected quid pro quo. "And just what exactly do you get out of this?"

The sigh that blows past his lips is almost weary, maybe a little bit exasperated. "I'm in the position to help, love. I've no ulterior motives here. There are no strings attached to this offer. I simply do not wish to see such a beautiful dog taken from a family who obviously loves him very much. And I certainly do not want to see your lad's heart broken, nor yours, not when I can do something to prevent it."

And maybe she still looks a little unsure, because he chuckles and raises an eyebrow. "If me wanting something in return would make you more inclined to accept my offer, I can say that I would not be at all opposed to sharing a meal with you at a future date and location of your choosing... As a thank you, of course," he adds belatedly.

She's not sure what exactly it is that makes up her mind; maybe it's that what he's offering is too good to pass up, or maybe it's the almost nervous smile on his lips as he more or less asks her out on a date, but whatever it is, she finds herself nodding slowly. "Okay, but I'm paying you back. Every cent," she states firmly.

A smile spreads across his face, his cheeks dimpling. "Whatever you wish. Now let's get those forms signed and tell Whale the good news, shall we?"

It doesn't take her long to scribble her signature at the bottom of the necessary pages, and when she's finished, Killian peers at them quickly before shuffling them into a neat pile and standing. "We'll likely get started on the surgery very soon, time being of the essence, but it won't be a short process, and Roger will have to stay here for some time to recover before he can be sent home, so it's up to you, love, you're welcome to stay and wait for the duration of the surgery, or if you'd prefer, you can head home to your boy and I can call you when we finish."

Emma stands too, shouldering her purse. She really should get home to Henry and let Belle get some sleep. "What about payment? I can cover some of it now. There's no way I'm letting you pay for all of it."

He just waves her off. "Don't worry about that right now, when the bill is finalized we'll figure it all out."

Pulling her phone from her purse, she looks at the time. It's already well after midnight. "I guess I should get home to Henry. You'll call as soon as it's done?"

"Aye, love, I can. Though perhaps you'd rather I wait until a more reasonable hour? I'd hate to wake you and your boy."

She shakes her head. "I won't be sleeping, not until I know Roger's okay," she tells him. "And Henry can sleep through anything, so please call."

Killian nods and moves toward the door, holding it open for her. "In that case, would you like to say goodnight to Roger quickly? He's fairly sedated at the moment, but I'm sure he'd be glad to see you."

Emma nods and follows him back down the narrow hallway to another section of the building. Ruby is at the far end of a bank of kennels, whispering soothingly to a cat, and Whale is seated at a desk, flipping through the pages of a weighty textbook.

"We'll be going ahead with the surgery as planned," Killian announces as they enter. "Ms. Swan's just saying a quick goodnight to her pup so she can get home to her lad."

Ruby sends a bright grin Emma's way and Dr. Whale simply nods his acceptance before returning to his reading.

Killian opens the cage door and urges her closer. Roger blinks up at her with glossy eyes, and when she reaches out to pet him, his tail thumps sluggishly against the thick bedding lining the cage. It's then that she remembers the toy hastily shoved into her purse at Henry's insistence. Digging through her bag, she pulls it out. "Is it okay if I leave this with him? It won't get in the way, will it?" she asks Killian. "According to Henry, Roger sleeps with it every night."

Killian smiles warmly and takes it from her hand, reaching past her to tuck it next to Roger's head, out of the way of the tubes and lines that run from his front right leg. "I imagine Roger is very thankful for Henry's insight, aren't you boy?"

Roger's gaze shifts from Emma to Killian and his tail thumps slowly again as he snuffles at the toy and seems to exhale contentedly.

With a final pat, Emma nods for Killian to close the door, and she's sure to throw a thank you and a grateful smile to Ruby and Dr. Whale as Killian walks her out to the front of the clinic. He places the clipboard on the front desk, and then he's rushing forward to open the main door for her, insisting that he'll walk her to her car, even though she rolls her eyes and tells him that it's less than fifteen feet away.

There's a moment of awkward silence when they get there and it seems that neither of them are quite ready to say goodbye. She breaks it by reaching for her phone. "I guess I should get your number..." She tells herself that it only makes sense; she's going to owe the guy quite a bit of money and it's not as if she'll be able to pay him back in a week. He's going to be in her life for a while. Plus she did sort of promise to take him out for a meal... dinner? A date? A date wouldn't be so bad, would it? Also, she's wearing his shirt... She shakes her head at her internal monologue and pulls up the screen to add a new contact.

"So, Killian, that's spelled like Jillian, right?" He nods, containing his laughter by biting his lip. "And your last name...?" God, she doesn't even know his last name. _What the hell is her life?_

"Jones," he tells her, followed by his number.

When she tucks her phone back into her purse and pulls out her keys, she's somehow still rooted to the spot, not quite ready to leave. "Killian, I, uh, should, I need to thank you, for this. I don't know what I would have done if it wasn't for you, if I was heading home right now to tell Henry..." she doesn't finish the thought. She doesn't want to. "So thank you. Really."

His ears have gone that adorable shade of red again, a shade that the neon light from the open-sign in the clinic window only seems to enhance. "Think nothing of it, Emma. I'm, uh, happy to help."

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, his eyes cast downward, and she wars with indecision for all of two short seconds before stepping forward to hug him impulsively. He's stiff at first as her arms wrap around his middle, cause yeah, she probably surprised the poor guy, surprised herself a little too if she's being honest (she's not exactly the touchy feely sort), but when his arms slowly come up to tentatively return the embrace, his hands warm and strong at her waist, somehow she's not at all surprised by how comforting it is to be wrapped in his warmth. It's like wearing his shirt, but so much better.

Which of course means that she pulls back a short moment later, and yup, there we go, it's her turn to blush as she unlocks her car and quickly settles into the seat, studiously avoiding his gaze for several long seconds before she works up the courage to roll down her window and finally look back up at him.

There's a bizarre mixture of confusion and amused affection on his face and she can't help but smile. "You'll call me when he's out of surgery, right?"

Killian grins back at her. "Aye, Emma. Have a safe drive home. I'll call you later."

And he does. Just after 4am.

She'd arrived home, thanked Belle until she was certain the quiet brunette might actually strangle her if she uttered another word, and then she'd carried Henry to bed. He'd stirred momentarily, his eyes blinking open just long enough to ask about Roger, and the second she'd reassured him that the pup would be fine, he'd fallen back into a steady sleep. After that she'd tiptoed back out into the kitchen to grab a beer and a bowl of dry cereal (knock-off lucky charms go with beer, right?), before settling in on the couch with an old movie on mute, closed captioning crawling across the bottom of the screen.

When her phone nearly vibrates its way off the edge of the coffee table, Killian Jones lighting up the screen, she quickly grabs it, steps into slippers, and snags a jacket as she slips out the door and into the night.

"Hey," she says in greeting, juggling the phone as she shrugs into her coat. The night air is crisp and her breath clouds in the dim light of the street lamp. "How'd it go?"

"Emma? Sorry, one moment, love." She hears his voice muffled for a second and then the slam of a car door before he's speaking again. "It's bloody freezing out here, wanted to get in the truck, but Dave, one of my co-workers, just got here for the early shift and it took him a moment to realize that I was otherwise occupied."

"That's all right. Did everything go well?" she asks again.

"Aye, Whale stopped the bleed, and patched him up good as new. Dave'll take good care of him until I'm back in later this evening."

"You always work the night shifts?" She's curious and just maybe she wants to get to know the guy a little better.

"6pm to 4am, Tuesday through Saturday. I'm finishing up veterinary school on a part time basis. Class on Mondays and the remainder is a combination of online and apprenticing with Whale."

She hears the rumble of his truck starting up and she leans heavily against the brick wall at her back. "Impressive," she says, and she means it. And then she frowns. He's got a lot on the line here. "Are you sure you won't get in trouble for helping me out? I mean paying a client's bill? Is there not some rule against that?"

A chuckle and then a yawn. "Whale's getting paid; I should hardly see why it matters where the money is coming from."

"But isn't it like a conflict of interest of something? I mean won't he find it suspicious if he sees your information on the statement instead of mine?" She's probably over thinking this. It's late... or early, depending on how one looks at it, she probably shouldn't worry so much.

"Don't worry about it, love, even if he were to notice, I highly doubt he'd care, and I mean if you were my girlfriend, I'd surely be helping out with the bill and that would hardly be a-" He grows quiet as he seems to realize what he said.

Silence hangs heavy for a moment, their combined breathing sounding until Emma shakes her head and laughs. "Killian? Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?" she teases.

More silence, an awkward cough. "I, uh, that didn't come out quite as I'd planned it, apologies, love, if I've offen-"

She cuts him off. "Relax, I was joking." _Mostly_ , she thinks to herself. "Though I'm still taking you out for that meal. I keep my promises you know."

"You're taking me out?" He sounds a bit surprised and she scoffs. "Don't be stupid, Killian, you're already helping me out here big time, I'm not letting you pay for a meal that's entire purpose is supposed to be me thanking you." She pauses then and contemplates something. "How do you even have $6000 just sitting around to spend on a total stranger anyway? I mean yeah, from your schedule it's obvious that you work a lot of hours, but veterinary school can't be cheap. Please tell me you're not a pimp or a drug lord?"

His laughter is bright through the phone pressed to her ear, and it warms her, warding off the autumn chill as she pokes at a stray leaf with the fuzzy toe of her slipper. "Nothing of the sort, love, but if it's quite all right with you, I think I'll save the story of my rather fortunate finances for another time. It's been a long night, your pup is in good hands with Dave, and I imagine we could both use some shuteye."

He yawns again and this time she echoes it. "You're probably right."

"Sounds like it. If you and your boy would like to come see Roger tomorrow evening, I'm sure that could be arranged. It would have to be a short visit as we can't excite him too much, but I've always found that animals recuperate much faster around familiar and friendly faces."

Emma smiles. "Are you like this with all your clients or do you just really like me?" It's out of her mouth before she can stop it and there's another moment of silence before he speaks. "I endeavour to ensure that all owners and their pets receive the time and attention that they deserve." He's quiet for another beat. "But I do like you, Emma, I'd be lying if I claimed otherwise."

She's not sure exactly how to reply to that and really, it's her own damn fault for opening her big mouth and sticking her foot in it. With a sigh, she scrubs her free hand over her eyes. "I should let you get home and to sleep," she finally says. "I'll text you in the morning and work something out for visiting Roger. I know Henry would appreciate it." She pauses. "And thank you again, Killian, really."

"You're most welcome, Emma. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she whispers, and when he hangs up, she shoves her phone into her pocket and looks up at the clear night sky.

 _It's amazing how much your life can change in a matter of hours._

* * *

On Wednesday evening after dinner, she drops by the clinic with Henry to visit Roger. They return again Thursday evening. And then Friday and Saturday as well.

Henry likes Killian. Emma already knows she's in trouble.

Henry spends Sunday at a friend's house and Emma picks Killian up and takes him out for that meal she promised. There's this little restaurant just outside of the city called Granny's. They've got homemade pumpkin pie, grilled cheese, and some of the best onion rings Emma's ever tasted. After eating, they end up walking through the apple orchard next door. There are horse-drawn hayrides and when Killian pouts and goads her until she agrees to go on one, she has to wonder how the hell he managed to pick up Henry's knack for convincing her to do just about anything in the four short times they've met. When the chilly hayride is over and her cheeks are the same colour as the tips of his ears, they return to Granny's for hot chocolate with cinnamon and rum-laced apple cider as they warm their fingers and faces in front of a seasonal bonfire on the patio.

It's not supposed to be romantic. But it is. Ridiculously so.

She drives him home after and walks him to his front door because she likes the look he gives her when she reverses all these stereotypical roles. She thinks that maybe he'll kiss her, but he just grins, thanks her for a wonderful afternoon, and tells her he'll see her tomorrow when it's time to pick up Roger. As she walks back to her car, her lips chapped and her hair wild from the hayride, she thinks that maybe (definitely) she should have kissed him.

Roger comes home Monday evening. Killian comes with him. He's got the day off and he scoffs at her accusation that he ought to be studying or doing homework - he's an adult thankyouverymuch. Roger really is the best dog ever. He seems to understand that rest is on the agenda for the foreseeable future and is perfectly content to lounge around. Killian helps Henry with his homework while she makes a late dinner (the oven thankfully doesn't set fire to it), and afterwards they watch _It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown_. Halloween is still a couple weeks away, but Henry says that doesn't matter, he watch to watch it anyway. He falls asleep ten minutes in, curled into Emma's side with his feet stretched across Killian's lap. Emma doesn't have the heart to move him yet, and maybe she doesn't want Killian to leave just yet either, because she puts on another movie and snuggles further into the couch as she runs her fingers through Henry's hair.

Some time around 10 o'clock, Killian wakes her with the gentle brush of his thumb over her cheek. He carries Henry to bed for her and helps her maneuver Roger outside to do his business. When Killian finally leaves for the night (he actually does have an assignment to complete and submit), Roger whines pitifully from his spot on the rug. And yup. It's official. _She's screwed._

Roger's doing much better by the time the week leading up to Halloween rolls around, but he's still limited to short walks (only a few houses down and back), and Emma tells Henry that Roger will have to wait until next year to go trick or treating. Henry's bummed, but the second Killian offers to help with his pirate costume (the man is a whizz with a sewing machine - who knew?) her kid's face brightens, and Emma spends the remainder of the week listening to Henry talk like a pirate and sharpen his sword fighting skills against the furniture. _Thank god the sword is plastic._

Halloween falls on a Sunday night and somehow she finds herself accepting when Killian offers to man the battlements and hand out candy at her house while she walks Henry around the neighbourhood. Killian arrives before dark in a pirate costume matching the one he crafted for Henry, and when Henry shouts "cool!" and the two of them duel it out in the middle of her living room, Roger barking enthusiastically on the sidelines, she marvels at what her life has become. Later that night when Henry's long since passed out in a sugar coma, she looks at Killian sprawled on her couch in his pirate gear and wonders if maybe taking a lifetime to repay him will mean that he never gets to leave.

 _She might just be a little bit in love with him._

It's a cold and snowy day in mid December when she finds him holed up in his house with a bottle of rum. There's a foot of snow on the ground and it's all fallen in the last few hours. Henry's snowed in, safe and sound at a friend's, and the heavy powder continues to fall as Killian finally tells her the story of his fortunate finances. He tells her how his brother died on this day three years ago, leaving him a small fortune, but that he'd give it all away in a heartbeat just to see Liam again. The snow finally stops as she pries the Captain Morgan from his grasp and pushes him not so gently toward the warmth of his bed. He looks at her with wide eyes and more emotions than she knows how to categorize, and it's an easy decision to crawl beneath the blankets with him and press herself to his back. Nothing more happens that night, and in the morning when he wakes, there's a smile on his face again.

Killian spends Christmas with them. She insists upon it. There no way she's letting him spend it alone now that she's knows he's even shorter on family than she is. Henry backs her up, Roger certainly isn't opposed, and Killian accepts without too much convincing. The logistics of it are tricky, Henry still believes in Santa Claus and Killian sleeping on the couch poses an issue, but she's sure as hell not about to invite the man into her bed because they haven't even kissed yet, and maybe they're on their way to becoming more than friends, but she doesn't know how she would explain any of that to Henry. So Killian sets up his bed on the couch, helps her finish the milk and cookies that Henry set out for Santa Claus, and when Christmas morning comes, Killian does a fantastic job of convincing Henry that he slept right through Santa delivering their presents.

There's wrapping paper and ribbon all over the floor, and there's Roger, completely healed and in absolute heaven at the center of it all, chewing on a squeaking parrot toy that she wants to strangle Killian for purchasing. Henry's tucked into the corner of the couch, absolutely enthralled, his eyes glued to the game boy that Killian bought, wrapped, and addressed to Henry from Santa, and she's tempted to strangle him for that too, but he looks so damned pleased with himself that the urge fades in favour of smiling and thumbing the delicate swan pendant that hangs around her neck. _The asshole._

The rest of the winter holidays pass in a blur of rosy cheeks, snowball fights, and movie nights with hot cocoa. Killian sleeps at his own house most of the time, save for the odd night here and there when they finish a movie late and she tosses a blanket and pillow his way after he carries Henry to bed. Roger still sleeps with Henry most of the time, but on the nights when Killian stays over, the poor dog is clearly torn, often choosing the happy medium of the hallway, where he can keep an eye on both her son and her something-more-than-just-a-friend.

On New Year's Eve Henry manages to stay awake long enough to watch the ball drop, and it's bittersweet for two reasons. One; it's a sign that her little boy is growing up, and two; if Henry had actually been asleep, she's pretty sure she would have worked up the courage to finally kiss Killian.

The day she finally does kiss him is a miserably cold morning, late in February. She's been freezing her ass off in the bug for the better part of two hours, waiting for a perp she honestly doesn't expect to show. A large portion of those two hours are spent texting back and forth with Killian, just trying to stay alert, and she almost has a heart attack when he taps on her passenger window with a tray of coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. She reaches over to push open the door for him and he takes a seat in the vehicle before handing her a large coffee and a bear claw with a grin.

She's not sure exactly why this is the moment that everything just clicks, but it does, so she goes with it. Setting her bear claw and her coffee down without so much as a bite or a sip, she reaches for the lapels of his jacket and bends uncomfortably across the console so she can kiss him. He's all warm lips, soft and yielding beneath her own as she finally gives into the urge she's had since that fateful autumn night all those months ago. He tastes like coffee and spiced rum and home, and maybe that last one is a bit of a leap, but hey, her heart feels pretty damned light right now and she could certainly stand to jump so long as he's there to catch her.

And catch her he does. Time and time again. He's there when Belle makes the reluctant decision to sell the town house and move half way across the country, and he's there to offer her and Henry and Roger a place in his home (they already have one in his heart, he tells her). He's also there when Neal shows up out of the blue after an eleven year absence, intending to fight her for custody. He's there for the big things and he's there for the little things; like when Henry needs help with biology homework, or gets picked on at school. He's there when her bug breaks down and officially dies for good, miles outside of town, and he's there with open arms and gentle words whenever she's had a terrible day.

He's there for all of that, so when he proposes in the middle of a walk with Roger, kneeling on wet asphalt in the rain on a chilly autumn evening, nearly four years to the day since they met, she doesn't have to think twice about saying yes.

Roger is six when Emma gives birth to a baby girl, and the night they bring Evelyn home, Roger finds a new favourite spot to sleep. Killian officially becomes a veterinarian and opens up his own clinic, and when little Eve is five years old, she follows closely in her big brother's footsteps and convinces them to adopt yet another member into the family. Except this time it's a cat instead of a dog, and they name the feisty orange kitten Ariel after Eve's favourite little mermaid. Roger is eleven when he makes an unlikely new friend in a cat.

And when Roger reaches sixteen, old and flecked with grey, his body failing but his eyes still bright, filled with love and memories and evidence of a good long life, they gather together as a family to say goodbye. And as she places her hand over Roger's heart and feels it grow still, she looks around at her husband and her two wonderful children, and thanks the damn dog one last time for running out into traffic after that squirrel.


End file.
